


The Magnus Academy

by Gemi



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Child Abuse, Pseudo-Incest, Superpowers, the umbrella academy au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-13 09:55:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21242213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemi/pseuds/Gemi
Summary: Elias was a fucked up dad, but he was still their dad. Him going to prison and dying in prison because he was that much of an asshole should not come as a surprise, nor a blow. But it does.Mostly, meeting everyone again is a mess.





	1. Chapter 1

When Martin closes the door behind him, there is but a second to react before a pile of books begin to topple over. It is a second too little, of course. Martin was never the athletic one, and stopping a book avalanche is harder than one would think. More so when your arms are weighed down by groceries. 

Not to say he doesn’t  _ try _ . 

He manages to catch four of them. Two hit his head, one somehow gets his shin and the rest fall to the floor with loud thuds in a perfect imitation of a miniature earthquake. 

It ends as quickly as it happened, and Martin finds himself clutching four books while staring at the now cluttered floor.

“Jon?” he calls out after a moment. 

When there is no reply, he gingerly toe out of his shoes, trying his best to not stumble and fall as he begins to work his way through the piles of books and newspapers and the occasional tea cup, his arms still heavy with groceries and now four books. The kitchen is dreadfully bare in comparison. 

Martin puts everything where it should go and wonders if he should bother cooking anything. It truly depends on just  _ how _ wild Jon’s powers got during the night- either he will wake ravenous, or he will not wake for another day, sleeping or because his powers aren’t  _ done _ yet. There is truly only one way of finding out.

It’s not that Jon is a  _ messy _ man. Even if Martin has to wind through piles of books and avoid slipping on news papers and breaking tea cups, it’s not exactly messy. It is simply  _ too much _ . Especially when he knows the entire flat was spotless the day before. 

“Jon?” he asks, gently pushing the bedroom door open.

There is a snuffling sound. A grunt, and when the bedside lamp turns on, Martin has to bite back a smile as Jon hisses what sounds like a curse.

“Good morning,” he says and smoothes down the quite frankly  _ impressive _ bedhead which Jon has acquired, “Do you want to eat something?”

Jon squints up at him, and Martin finally lets himself smile at the sight.

Eyes that are usually sharp as razors are now bleary and heavily underlined with dark bags. It should not look as charming as it does, but Martin has long since accepted he finds too many things charming when it comes to Jon.

It also usually doesn’t take such a long time for Jon to answer a simple question.

“I think you need to eat something,” Martin decides, and he rests his hand against Jon’s hair. “Should I boost you?” 

“... fine,” Jon mumbles back, still absolutely buried in blankets. Martin is pretty sure he can see a book peeking out from under one pillow, but he doesn’t quite feel like starting an argument with what is basically a hungover Jon. 

“Alright,” he agrees and slides his hand down to cup Jon’s cheek. He has some stubble growing, barely there but still scratchy. Martin hums and pushes some of his own energy into Jon and watches some of that sharpness return. 

It’s not a perfect solution, of course. The boost is borrowed and will disappear within the next ten minutes, but ten minutes is all Martin needs to nudge Jon into the kitchen and give him a cup of heavily caffeinated coffee. 

“What did you learn?” he asks, cracking eggs for a quick scramble. 

“Nothing,” Jon mutters back.

“ _ Nothing? _ ”

“Nothing worthwhile,” is the snapped reply, and Martin rolls his eyes as he puts the bacon in the pan. “It was a useless _ urge _ .”

“Dad always said there was no useless information,” he points out, then nods towards the fridge. “Do you want more coffee, or should I pour you some juice?”

“I don’t have juice.”

“You do now.” 

Jon wrinkles his nose at him.

“Did you go  _ shopping  _ for me?”

  
“Jon, you literally had nothing in the entire kitchen yesterday and I could  _ see _ you getting twitchy last night. Of course I went shopping for you.” 

“If I had wanted food I could simply have gone to your place,” Jon replies, cradling his cup of coffee much like how Martin imagines a dragon hoards gold. “You live right next to me. I can hear you sing in the shower.”

Martin flushes.

“Well, you  _ wouldn’t _ have. And don’t listen to me singing!”

“Believe me, I try not to.” 

For a moment, they scowl at each other. Then Martin huffs and slide the food onto plates and pushes the extra greasy one at Jon. 

“Eat,” he says, and pours juice for  _ himself _ , then, if Jon doesn’t want any. “I’ll help you clean later.”

Jonathan looks towards the living room and grimaces.

“I… did not think it was  _ that _ bad.”

“It’s why I’m wondering what you learnt. I haven’t seen you build towers that high since- um.”

“Since our last mission. Yes, I know.”

Martin looks down at his plate, suddenly not as hungry as before. But he can’t let the silence settle. Jon withdraws too easily, even now, when they are out of that house. So Martin swallows and pushes forward, wincing only a little when his fork accidentally scrapes across the plate.

“So what did you do? What did you research?”

“It- it was…” Jon frowns, poking suspiciously at the eggs. “Something about that man- Peter Lukas? Got stuck in my head. It must have been worse than we thought. I couldn’t stop.”

“You said he was too dangerous to investigate,” Martin points out, “He was too connected to dad.”

“Which is probably  _ why _ my powers made the decision for me! And stop calling him  _ dad _ ,” Jon  _ snarls  _ suddenly, eyes sharp and glowing as he looks up with a glare. Martin averts his own eyes and fights the urge to curl into himself. Instead he clutches the fork hard enough his knuckles turn white. 

The tension hangs heavy; the glow of Jon’s eyes lingering at the corner of Martin’s, a warning sign. Then finally Jon blinks. The glow flickers and disappears. 

Martin glances back; Jon is burying his face in his hands, shoulders trembling.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, “I think I’m getting a headache.”

“Why do you think I made greasy food?” Martin jokes, or tries to. It falls utterly flat. He pokes at a slightly too burnt piece of bacon instead. “... I need to call him  _ something _ .”

“You could just call him Elias. You  _ did _ help put him in jail.”

“Yeah, but… but he raised us. I’m not saying he did a  _ good _ job of it,” Martin hurries to add before Jon can scowl and reply, “But he  _ did _ raise us. I- I get why you and… and Melanie don’t want to call him that, I do. And he definitely doesn’t  _ deserve _ being called Dad. I just… I don’t know, Jon. It doesn’t feel right to call him Elias.”

“I can’t say I understand, Martin.”

Martin smiles weakly.

  
“I don’t expect you to, Jon. Besides, this isn’t about him, is it? I mean- I guess, in a way it is? But Peter Lukas. He’s… I didn’t see any conspiracy walls, did you even find anything on him during your…” Martin gestures vaguely.

“Seizure?” Jon wryly replies.

“That’s  _ Tim’s _ word for it. I was going to say… session? Obsessive sleepwalking? Um.”

“Attack?”

“Insomnia?”

“I don’t think I was conscious enough for it to be labelled as insomnia.” 

“Why is  _ your _ power so hard to name?”

“At least my hero name is better than yours,” Jon sniffs and sips the remains of his coffee. “The Beholder is leagues above  _ The Tender _ .” 

Martin grimaces.

“I won’t argue  _ that _ . I feel like… like meat, just saying that. Being named  _ Nurse _ would have been better. Or the tranquilizer.” 

“Probably.” Jon snatches Martin’s glass and smugly drinks the last of the juice. Martin snorts and pulls Jon’s plate over to his own side instead, happy to take the remaining bits of scrambled eggs. “But no, all I really found was that the Lukas family is old, rich and that Peter Lukas is a month older than Elias. And that he spends a lot of time at sea. We already knew all of that.”

“You spent a whole night in a  _ fit _ and that’s all you managed to get?” 

That  _ is _ worrying. Martin can’t ever remember that happening- whenever Jon enters one of those moments, he  _ always _ ends up with a book of notes. He once filled two notebooks with facts about the color blue. 

That there is nothing of note to write down about Peter Lukas is more suspicious than if Jon  _ had _ managed to write anything.

Still, Jonathan nods and drains the last of the juice. 

“Yes. However, hopefully the urge is  _ gone _ now, and we can…”

“Ignore it?” Martin asks, staring at him. “Have you met yourself?”

Jon scowls back, but Martin can see his cheeks darken with a flush.

“I  _ am _ capable of controlling myself.”

“Your power literally contradicts that,” Martin points out, “If we keep pushing it aside, this will just repeat itself. You know that. We  _ all _ know that. So… so we should check this out some more. Maybe call Daisy?”

“I don’t see how any of them can help. I don’t see how any of them  _ would _ help us,” Jon says. He slumps, resting his chin against his hand. Martin is tempted to boost him again, but he already had coffee. It doesn’t feel like a good idea. “And Peter Lukas is still dangerous.”

“Daisy would help. It’s  _ Daisy _ ,” he insists, because it’s true. Tim and Melanie wouldn’t, he isn’t dumb enough to think anything short of a bribe would make them come back. But Daisy is always there when Jon needs her. 

It used to make Martin jealous, but growing up changes things. 

“And if he’s  _ that _ dangerous, surely dad would have told us off by now?”

  
“What?”

“He would have told us to avoid him or something.”

“ _ How? _ He is in jail, Martin, he- you visited him.”

“Um.”

“ _ Martin _ .”

“Only two times! His birthday is two weeks before father’s day, you know.”

“You- he of  _ all _ people doesn’t deserve a father’s day card!”

“I didn’t give him one! They wouldn’t let me bring it in, I’m just saying, it felt wrong to  _ not  _ visit? Besides, as I said, he didn’t tell me we should stay away from Peter, so I’m sure it’s fine! Or as fine as things ever get for us.”

Jon groans and buries his face against his hands again. 

“... should you go back to bed?”

“I  _ should _ ,” Jon says against his hands, muffled and grumpy and exasperated, “I’m exhausted.” One finger moves just enough to let one eye glare at Martin. “You  _ were _ going to give him a father’s card.”   
  


“One he would have hated,” Martin admits, “but yeah, I would have.”

“It was bad?”

  
“It had a pun.”

“Ah.”

“Do you need help back to bed?”

  
“No. Martin, we are  _ not _ going to track down Peter Lukas. Alright? I don’t like how close he was to Elias, how close he  _ is _ to Elias. The  _ one _ other fact I found out is he visits Elias far too often and I don’t want-”

He pauses. 

Martin blinks. Jon doesn’t move. That itself is odd, but it doesn’t take long for Martin to realize Jon stopped  _ breathing _ , too.

And then his eyes glow.

“Oh,” Martin gasps and reaches out, hands hovering over Jon. “What- are you alright? Should I get paper and pen? Talk to me, please?”

“I… I don’t need paper and pen,” Jon rasps out, but he looks  _ pale _ . His hands drop and Martin catches them, squeezes them to try and center Jon back into the  _ now _ . “Martin. He’s dead.”

  
“What?”

“Elias…” Jon swallows and squeezes back, eyes meeting Martin’s in a wide eyed stare. “ _ Dad _ is dead.”

Martin stares back.

His phone beeps, and Martin doesn’t have to look to know Jon is right. 

Elias Bouchard is dead.


	2. Chapter 2

The house is as big and empty as when they left it, more a mansion than a house and built much like a three-dimensional maze of books and old things and  _ expensive _ things and too many stairs. 

It’s also perfectly clean, which is more unnerving than it should be.

“Um, do you want to stay in your old room?” Martin asks, carrying their luggage up the stairs. Technically they only needed one- Martin doubts anyone plans to stay for more than a day or two- but Jon needs notebooks just in case and Martin left some space in his own bag if they want to bring anything back home which they forgot the first time around.

Jon grimaces and shakes his head.

“No, I believe I’d rather sleep on the couch.”

  
“With  _ Melanie _ around? Let’s just share my room. Wouldn’t be the first time.” 

“Fine, fine. Have you seen…  _ her _ ?”

  
“Helen?” 

Jon shudders but nods, opening the door for Martin. The room is just as spotless as the rest of the house, nothing out of place since he last saw it. Which really was not that long ago when one compared to the others.

He and Jon had been the last ones to move out, after all.

“I haven’t,” Martin says and puts the bags on the bed. “Maybe she’s charging her energy?”

“Perhaps she finally broke down.”

“Jon, she’s  _ basically _ our mom.”

“And yet  _ you _ don’t call her that.”

  
“Well,” Martin shrugs, “I mean, I did come later than the rest of you. I already have-  _ had _ \- a mom. It would have felt… weird.”

“Everything about Helen  _ is _ weird, and that is being  _ polite _ ,” Jon hisses. He’s poking at an old recorder viciously enough that Martin feels obliged to reach out and grab his hand to stop it from breaking. Jon lets him. 

“It’s only for a day or two, Jon. It will be fine,” he soothes, and he  _ wants _ to soothe Jon proper. Push some calmness into him, make the tension melt away. But Jon hasn’t asked for it and they  _ do _ need to be prepared for when the others show up.

“Fine,” Jon mutters, “as long as  _ Tim _ doesn’t decide to blow up some antiques.”

Martin wants to protest that idea. Tim  _ likes _ old things, likes history and old buildings and antiquities. But he also knows Tim hates the house, hates  _ them _ for everything. It doesn’t matter that he and Melanie both sent gift baskets to them when they put Elias in jail.

Martin read enough self help books to know that some traumas just don’t go away. And it’s not like he doesn’t  _ deserve  _ some of that hatred, though he still thinks Tim should at least forgive  _ Jon _ for some of it. 

“I’m more worried Melanie will forget dad isn’t around to heal us if she stabs us,” he confesses, then grimaces. “Or that she and Daisy will get in a fight. That  _ really _ wouldn’t end well, would it?”

“Do you mean for them as in injuries and possible death, or do you mean for them as in the sense that Daisy is dating a police woman and is, herself, part of the police?” Jon wryly asks. “Either way, I agree. We should… keep them separate, perhaps. Or be prepared to use… ah, other tools of appeasement.”

He means Martin’s powers, of course.

“That’s a last resort, however,” Jon adds, squeezing Martin’s hand before stepping away. 

Then Jon looks around the room, eyes lingering on some of the old posters Martin never quite got around to taking down. On the rainbow flag clumsily nailed to the wall, one of few rebellions Martin ever dared to do. The vintage technology of recorders and the pile of glasses Martin never actually needed, the black and yellow scarf haphazardly thrown over an old gramophone he had found in an old antique shop. 

“You really are a hipster,” Jon says, and Martin swats at him.

  
“Oh, as if I’m the only one dressing like a grandpa,” he huffs, though he can’t help but smile because  _ Jon _ is smiling in that small, teasing way he sometimes does. He hands over a notebook and Jon tucks it into his suit jacket, the pocket specifically added to the inside of it for that exact purpose. 

“You are well aware I look ridiculous in things such as  _ t-shirts _ .”

“You  _ don’t _ though! You look normal, that’s all!”

Jonathan rolls his eyes.

“As I said,” he replies, and Martin can’t  _ believe _ that he actually enjoys this man’s company. “Now, I need some tea before the rest arrives.”

“Should we change into our suits first?” Martin wonders, peering into the bags. “Or later? When do you think the others will get here?”

“Tim and Melanie will most likely be as late as they can possibly be, but I don’t know about Daisy. She said she would bring her girlfriend and they would take a cab so…” 

“Right. Either right on time or later than everyone else. Got it. So… no suits?”

“Not right now.”

Martin nods.

“Alright,” he agrees and nudges Jon out of the room, “Let’s go and get some tea. Do you think this place still has some? It  _ has _ been ages since anyone lived here.” 

“There better be.”

“There  _ is _ ,” says Helen, causing Jon to yell and whirl around. It’s not an efficient move at all, more stumbling and flailing than there should be, but it’s not like  _ Martin _ is going to scold him for it. Not with how Martin only barely didn’t scream as well, or punch Helen in the face.

They both spin around to look at her and Helen smiles.

She  _ should _ look perfectly human, is the thing. Martin knows that their dad pulled a lot of strings to have a perfectly human looking  _ robot _ sent in to act as their mommy replacement. But there is still something empty in her eyes and her smile is just a bit too wide, her nails a bit too sharp and her hair just the tiniest bit too stiff as she tilts her head.

“It is so nice to see you again,” she says, and it doesn’t sound genuine at all. Martin is very aware that Jon has shuffled behind him. He doesn’t have to look to know that Jon is glaring at her. 

“H-hi, Helen,” he stutters, “Um, so tea, right?”

“Of course,” she replies, her smile growing just a little bit too wide, showing off her perfectly white, straight teeth. “Shall we go to the kitchen? Do tell me how you have been, dears. It has been so  _ long _ since I saw you.”

“Not long enough,” Jon mutters behind Martin. Helen’s smile twitches a little wider again, and Martin swallows and forces a smile onto his own lips. 

“Sounds  _ great _ ,” he says with forced cheer, “right behind you!”

Helen chuckles and nods and brushes past them to lead the way, her skirts swish-swishing as they walk, the tap-tap of her heels loud in the otherwise empty house. 

“When will the other children arrive?” she asks as they walk down one of the many stairs, “It will be so nice, having a full house once more.”

“Um, we’re not sure. Soon, we hope,” Martin awkwardly replies. “How, uh, how have  _ you _ been?”

“Oh, same old, same old,” Helen titters and gestures to the table once they reach the kitchen. “Do sit down, sweethearts. What kind of tea would you like?”

“Green tea, please,” Martin says and it takes some tugging to make Jon sit down, but he does. Stiff enough that Martin again has to fight against the urge to push some  _ calm _ into him, but he does sit. “For both of us.”

“Of course. Tell me about yourselves.”

It’s not a question. A simple demand said with a flat smile and blank eyes, and Martin clears his throat because it’s not like  _ Jon _ will answer.

“We’ve been good. I, um, I managed to publish some of my poems? And Jon is…” 

“Fine,” Jon says through gritted teeth, “And I am  _ not _ going to talk about myself.”

“Of course, dear,” Helen cooes and puts the tea down in front of them. It has Jon lean as far away as he can, chair scraping against the floor for a brief moment, “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I know how  _ shy _ you are.”

Jon scowls. Helen looks delighted by it, staring and not blinking as she just  _ smiles _ at him.

“Anyway,” Martin desperately cuts in, “we’re doing well! Getting by! I, Jon is a-”

“ _ Martin _ .”

“Jon is what he is,” Martin says, which sounds far worse than just saying  _ ‘librarian’ _ , which isn’t even the right term for Jon because it’s more being an archivist than a librarian but few things make sense in their lives so Martin decides to just move on, “And I work at a café, it’s, it’s… nice?”

“How nice,” Helen pleasantly replies. “I am so glad to hear it. Do you wish to see Mr. Bouchard’s urn?”

Martin chokes on his tea. Jon doesn’t, but only because he hasn’t even tried to drink it yet.

“What?” Martin wheezes.

“It is very nice,” Helen says, tapping her too pointy nails against the table. “Very decorative. An awful lot of eyes on it.”

“Right,” Jon says, and finally drinks his tea, probably to avoid speaking further.

“I… we can look at it later? During the, uh, the- the memorial?” 

Helen smiles that empty, pleasant smile.

“Of course, sweetheart.” 

The silence that settles around them is thick with tension. Helen stares and smiles and doesn’t ever pretend to blink. Jon and Martin try their best to not stare back, but Jon doesn’t want to talk and Martin doesn’t know  _ what _ to talk about.

They hear the front door slam open. Loud enough it echoes all the way to the kitchen, causing Helen to stand back up, the smile that had almost shrank back to something normal immediately widening to something awful.

“Oh, how nice!” she says, “come along, dears, let us go and greet them. Must be little Melanie, don’t you think? Such a rambunctious girl, she is,” Helen says.

She stares expectantly at the both of them.

Martin and Jon exchange a glance; Martin feels a little reassured that Jon is clearly as nervous as he is. They  _ really _ didn’t leave things on the good side with Melanie, after all.

“If… if she… if she gets  _ too _ rambunctious, will you help us stop her?” Martin dares to ask as they both get up, following Helen as she begins to lead the way.

“Oh, you children always liked to play it rough. I am sure you will be fine,” is the emptily amused reply.

It really doesn’t make Martin feel any more confident. 

He catches Jon hands and gives it a squeeze. He doesn’t know  _ who _ he is trying to reassure with that, but what matters is that Jon squeezes back.

It  _ is _ Melanie.

She only has a small bag thrown over one shoulder, which is a relief. It means she will be gone sooner rather than later, which is a good thing considering her excited grin aimed at Helen quickly morphs into a furious scowl when she spots them trailing behind.

“Oh, you two,” Melanie snarls. 

“Heeey, Melanie,” Martin replies, offering an awkward wave with his free hand. 

“Hello,” Jon says, but his scowl could easily match Melanie’s. 

She glowers at them; then her eyes land on their hands, fingers interlaced, and snorts.

“Figures,” she says, “Some things  _ never  _ change, do they?”   
  


“What does  _ that _ mean?”

“You know what that means,  _ Martin _ , it means-”

“Now, now,” Helen cuts in, smoothing out Melanie’s hair, “be nice, everyone. Oh, it is so nice to see you again, dear! Shall we put your bag in your room?”

“No. No, I’ll keep it on me,” Melanie says. Martin would feel insulted that her scowling, stupid face melts back into a smile at Helen, but mostly he feels relieved.  _ Jon _ is still glowering enough for both of them. “How you been, mom?”

  
“Oh, same old, same old,” Helen replies and links their arms together, “it is  _ dreadfully  _ cold outside, you deserve some tea. Boys, stay here, won’t you? Your sister needs some motherly love, and I wouldn’t want the others to arrive and not be greeted at the door.”

“Of course, Helen, sure,” Martin says, talking over Jon’s curt ‘ _ Fine _ ’, “See you later, Melanie.”

“Whatever,” their sister huffs and lets Helen drag her off, back to the kitchen.

They stand awkwardly in the hallway for a moment.

“... that went well. Right?” Martin asks, looking at Jon. 

Jon sighs and reluctantly nods.

“As well as it could,” he says, and then the door slams open a second time.

“I have arrived!” Tim shouts, one heavy-looking duffle bag over his shoulder. 

Then he stops in the doorway, staring at Jon and Martin, still holding hands, shoulders brushing with how close they are standing. They stare back and blink in unison. 

“Wow,” Tim says, grimacing at them, “Some things never change, do they?”

“Why do- what does that even  _ mean! _ ”

“It means you’re gross.  _ Bye _ ,” he says and roughly pushes past them even though the hallway is wide enough to be mistaken for a goddamn  _ foyer _ , and it’s even worse because the one he shoulderchecks is  _ Jon _ , “I need some coffee. Helen around or is she charging up?”

“She’s in the kitchen with Melanie,” Jon mutters, letting go of Martin’s hand to rub at his shoulder, glaring at Tim’s back. 

“Oh, good, the only other sane person is here already. Nice!” 

Martin scoffs and he  _ would _ say something back, but Tim is already out of view, and really, that still went better than it could have. Less explosions than predicted, for starters. 

Even if Martin’s hand now feels cold.

“That just leaves Daisy,” Jon says, which is of course when Daisy and Basira arrive.

Daisy looks them over critically, her hair shorter than last time they saw her. Basira is shrugging out of her coat behind her, their bags in a messy pile on the floor.

Daisy meets their eyes and raises one brow.

“I see Tim didn’t kill you,” she says as a way of greeting.

“Melanie is here too,” Jon admits.

“Oh, so  _ two _ near death encounters. I’m proud, Jon,” she replies. Martin steps to the side when she pulls Jon into a one armed hug, and he only feels a twinge of jealousy when Jon awkwardly hugs back.

He decides to wave at Basira instead.

“Hi, I’m Martin,” he says, and Basira looks amused.

“I know,” she says, “We met.”   
  


He knew that, of course. He doesn’t know why he even  _ said _ that.

Martin  _ really  _ doesn’t look forward to the memorial. 

**Author's Note:**

> Because why NOT write an Umbrella Academy au for this messed up squad?? 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
